


Kissing Faded

by aurics



Series: our growing love [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Break Up, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11764413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurics/pseuds/aurics
Summary: Jeonghan and Seungcheol have wrinkles and tears in the worn-out fabric of their relationship they need to smoothen out, and they’ve left them untended for so long the only way to make amends is to step away from each other and get their bearings right.But when Jeonghan keeps bumping into Seungcheol in the most unlikely places, it's hard not to believe that fate has other plans in store for them.





	Kissing Faded

**Author's Note:**

> (stares sadly at my wip folder full of other otp fics. i will never get out of coupjeong hell.)
> 
> I just really wanted some sad boyfriends working out their #issues but it was so difficult for me to find a point of conflict with these two, especially since they're adults in this fic. I tried though! And I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing the angst.
> 
> This follows the setting of The Cold Months Are Warmer, but it's not a necessary read to be able to understand this fic! I just carried a few teeny details over.
> 
> Title inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TbEbtYzW6FI) song by Bohkeh.

 

 

 

 

 

The way Seungcheol stumbles through the front door and trips over his own feet should be evidence enough that what’s about to transpire is no pretty picture, but Jeonghan still ignores it in lieu of glancing at the clock. 2:49am.

“Oh, you’re still awake."

Seungcheol sounds disappointed. Ridiculous.

"How was work?" Jeonghan asks from where he’s perched on the sofa, eyeing Seungcheol's sluggish movements from the corner of his eye.

"Fine," Seungcheol says, voice tight. That’s been his only response to everything, lately – though to be fair Jeonghan hasn’t exactly been asking him very different questions.  

He tosses his suit jacket and tie onto the couch before sauntering to the kitchen, no doubt in search of a can of beer. Jeonghan's eyebrow twitches.

“Put your clothes away," Jeonghan's voice is clipped. "And stop drinking, for god's sake."

"I'll put them away later." Seungcheol enters the living room again with a glass of ice cubes and three full cans under his arm. He pops one open, pours the contents into the glass, and Jeonghan can't stand staying silent.

He pulls his glasses off his face and fixes a hard stare at Seungcheol’s broad but hunched back. "You're going to wake up hungover."

"I haven't been hungover, I've been fine. I’m not a lightweight."

Jeonghan scoffs. “What do you take me for, Seungcheol? I know you’ve been drinking every night. You’re tipsy right this second."

“I’m not an alcoholic, either, if that’s what you’re trying to say,” Seungcheol says brusquely, turning around to lean against the wall near the TV as if posing a challenge.

“Seems like you enjoy putting words in my mouth a lot."

“That’s what you’re trying to say though, right?” Seungcheol keeps prodding, shaking the second opened can in his hand. “You’re saying I have no control and that I don’t have a grip on myself. Well, I’m perfectly –“ Seungcheol swings the can too vigorously and it hits the shelf behind him, spilling beer all over the books and marble floor below.

“Seungcheol!” It comes out as a shout, like Jeonghan is a cannon waiting for the fire to hit the bottom of the wick, and now he’s exploding. “ _Look at you_ , shit, the _state_ you’re in! You _are_ out of control, damn it, and you still think you’re not overdoing it?"

“What does it matter if I’m out of control? I’ll be fine in the morning. It’s just an inconvenience to you at home, isn’t it?“

Heat creeps up Jeonghan’s neck as he tries to curb his fury – it doesn’t work, he’s still spitting out fire. “Don’t pretend like you have the easiest job in the world. It’s barely manageable when you’ve got all the sober brainpower you need – are you even getting _anything_ done at the office like this?"

“ _Damn you_ , Jeonghan, at least I’m not the one who’s been messing things up on set."

The accusation hits him like a sharp slap across the face. It’s no secret that Jeonghan’s new movie hasn’t performed nearly as well  on the box office as they’ve been expecting, not even close – has been met with scathing reviews at times, and part of it is due to Jeonghan’s subpar portrayal of a broken-hearted man attempting to reconnect with the world around him after losing his lover. It’s still a sore topic to touch upon for Jeonghan; has left him reluctant to pick up new projects but more irritable with each passing day spent idly at home.

And now Seungcheol is ripping open that sore spot and is stabbing on it, repeatedly with what seems to be the sharpest, meanest words he can think up of.

“You know, the decent thing to do at a time like this would be to comfort your own fucking fiancé. ' _’It'll be okay, Jeonghan. Things will pick up soon. You’re a wonderful, capable man!’_ Or is that now too hard for you to do, you selfish son of a bitch?"

“Actually, I was going to have a proper talk about it,” Seungcheol is seething. “But now I don’t feel like it anymore."

Jeonghan scoffs. “Bullshit. You wanted a discussion so you wave my failure in front of my face? If you really wanted to talk, you wouldn’t drink as soon as you got home –"

“ _God_ , you’re nitpicking on  _one_ night –"

“– and you wouldn’t stay at work until two in the morning just to avoid me!” Jeonghan raises his voice, slamming the book and pen he’s been gripping far too hard on the floor. The paper is crumpled badly. “You think I don’t notice? I stay up later one night and you’re gone for a whole hour later; you sneak around the room when you come home like you’re trying to get away with something.” Jeonghan crowds into Seungcheol’s space. "You always, _always_  wait until I’m asleep to even go near the front door!"

“What does it matter to you?"

“I’m sick of staying up for you, Seungcheol! Sick of it!” Now there are tears in Jeonghan’s eyes. “Would it hurt just to send a single message before you get home? Or are you too busy fucking some bitch –"

Something breaks – on the floor (the glass) and within Seungcheol, it seems, because in seconds he's grabbing a handful of Jeonghan’s shirt and is pulling him forward, his eyes fiery and mouth twisted in a frown. There are tears in the corners of his eyes.

“I can be many bad things, Yoon Jeonghan,” he seethes. “But don’t you ever, _ever_ , try to call me a fucking cheater again."

Jeonghan wrestles out of his grip and sinks to the ground, breathless, because for a minute he was afraid he’d tapped into something ugly in Seungcheol’s alcohol-addled mind, but the other man looks just as spent as he is all of a sudden; eyes unseeing, cheeks wet with tear-tracks and chest heaving with the weight of the air. It makes Jeonghan wonder where exactly romance has gone wrong.

_Forget fucking romance_ , Jeonghan thinks. _We can’t even have a decent conversation in the same room._

"You know what," Seungcheol says after a long while, inhaling a shaky breath and unable to stop the tears falling from his eyes. "We need a break."

The words hit Jeonghan like a ton of bricks – but they fall right through the chasm that’s splitting open between them, pulling them towards opposite ends of the world, ripping apart through every fiber of Jeonghan’s being like a knife running right down his chest. He’s really done it this time.

“You’re a coward,” Jeonghan tries to fight one last time, but there’s no stopping Seungcheol from grabbing his wallet and keys off the middle shelf near the door, no way of telling him to take his shoes back off and sit down on the couch once more.

“No. No I’m not. If I were a coward, I’d let things stay as they are until everything burns to the goddamn ground.” Seungcheol’s voice is low, like he’s trying to keep himself from shouting, or from bursting into tears. “Maybe you don’t give a fuck about this – about _us –_ but I do, so I’m taking a break. We’re taking a break."

Seungcheol slams the door closed, and Jeonghan pulls off the engagement ring – now hot and uncomfortable – off his finger and throws it to a corner, sinking to the ground.

They can’t keep up this pretense of perfection forever. They have wrinkles and tears in the fabric of their relationship they need to smoothen out, and they’ve left them untended for so long the only way Jeonghan and Seungcheol can make amends is to cut out the broken pieces – to step away from each other and get their bearings right.

It’s inevitable. With everything brewing between them as of late, it was bound to happen, sooner or later.

That doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

 

 

*

 

 

No discussion ever takes place but it becomes an unspoken agreement for Seungcheol to move out. By the time weekend rolls around, their apartment is in the sparsest state Jeonghan’s ever seen it and for a while he revels in this development. He’s finally free of another body that has since become a weight to him; he has an entire condo to himself; he’s now free to park his own car in the basement parking space instead of one a short walk away from the apartment; he can sleep at odd hours without judgement, and for a little while Jeonghan can fool himself into thinking that he’s crazy for giving up the celibate lifestyle.

Yet as time passes by, Jeonghan comes to the realisation that there's no way of obliterating the residue of Seungcheol’s presence – not in his home nor his life.

For instance: Jeonghan wakes up one morning, groggily, and tries to swat at the alarm clock that won’t stop beeping. After the third time of swiping at nothing but thin air, he realises he’s woken up on the wrong side of the bed – Seungcheol’s side – having been drawn there in the middle of the night by both the lingering familiar scent and a longing for a lover’s solid, enveloping warmth.

He finds himself stumbling upon things Seungcheol’s forgotten to take with him, the negligent bastard (or things he’s left on purpose; Jeonghan wouldn’t put it past him to do that). After the seventh pair of Seungcheol’s socks surfacing in the pile of laundry he’s folding, Jeonghan gives up – the apartment’s grown too stifling, too cramped and all he needs right now is some fresh air.

The evening breeze hits him like the wake-up call he’s been craving for. He’d left work (browsing possible roles with his agency) early that day, claiming a headache – which isn’t much of a lie as an inaccurate description of where the ache resides in his body. Away from the traces of someone who was once a lover (and most probably something else, now), Jeonghan’s finally relaxed enough to let his feet guide him through the streets, take his body wherever they please tonight.

Apparently, this means taking him to the nearest records store, the one he usually passes by on the way to work. As he stares up at the neon sign, glaring in the darkness of the night, he smiles derisively at himself.

“Look at what a fucking mess you are,” he mutters to himself, because even this ridiculous, run-down establishment reminds him of Seungcheol and his pretentious collection of records he never even plays.

_They’re collectibles,_ he’d stubbornly explained once. _Doesn’t it excite you, owning something that is so few in quantity in the world? Anyway, they’ll be worth a lot later on. We can get rich off of these alone_. Jeonghan had replied that if he didn’t love Seungcheol so much, he would have sold every single one he owned, because all his records did was sit in a corner and gather dust. They still sit in a corner, tucked away in a nook of the living room wall, another appendage of Seungcheol Jeonghan has yet to do anything about.

Maybe Jeonghan should throw them away. Does he still love Seungcheol as much as he used to? Is there a way to quantify this feeling, love?

Just thinking about throwing them away feels a lot like amputating a perfectly good arm, now.

Jeonghan suddenly wishes he’s filming that movie, the one that’s given him the scare of a lifetime. He thinks he’d be able to play the broken-hearted character a lot better, now that he knows what it feels like to walk around with a shattered organ inside of him.

Something beyond the display glass snaps Jeonghan out of his musings.

Right between the Jazz and Hip Hop aisles stands Seungcheol, wrapped in a worn hoodie and looking a little thinner than what Jeonghan’s (most likely distorted) mind can recall. There’s a pale pallour to his usually glowing skin, and harsh lines under his eyes as if he’s been squinting a lot, or crying, or staying up to play games. But he’s also got his jet black hair neatly combed away from his face, his favourite pair of jeans on and a small smile on his face as he manages to pick a record out, satisfaction settling in the corners of his lips.

All in all, Seungcheol doesn’t look anything like the mess Jeonghan wished he’d be – so why is it that Jeonghan feels more relief than disappointment?

Whether Seungcheol’s eye eventually catches his, Jeonghan never gets to find out, because he decides he’s had enough and slips quietly away from the store window, back into the darkness where he is haunted not by the physical manifestation of a relationship in tatters, but only by the thoughts of them. That, at least, is easier to deal with.

 

 

*

 

 

He's been resistant to the idea, the image of his engagement ring stowed away in the back of his closet stubbornly residing in a corner of his mind, but when Seokmin takes one look at him during a surprise dinner visit, he declares Jeonghan in severe need of contact with the outside world.

"I've been getting a lot of it. I go out grocery shopping every day," Jeonghan grumbles even as he pulls on his favourite skinny jeans and a silky top that shows off his collarbones.

"That worries me," Seokmin deadpans. "What do you even run out of that you need to go grocery shopping _every day_?"

Jeonghan can't say that the reason he makes completely unnecessary trips to the grocery store is because he likes the bittersweet taste of nostalgia that hits him as soon as he steps foot inside; he enjoys being transported away from the present and into the past, when Seungcheol would occupy empty aisles and break out into silly dances, half ransack the shelves of snacks or even sneak kisses when he thinks no one is looking. It's more than a little pathetic, and sometimes Jeonghan walks out without buying a single thing, but if he can only find refuge in mundane things he has come to associate with Seungcheol then so be it.

"Jeonghan? Jeonghan!" He only registers Seokmin's calls as he exhales loudly, half in frustration and half something else Jeonghan can't put a finger on. "Look, stop thinking about him. Please. You need to step away from everything for a second and that's why we're going out tonight. Okay?"

The deep intake of breath somewhat clears Jeonghan’s mind, but he still feels a little like a child learning how to walk, stumbling along and in dire need of support. “Okay."

 

*

 

 

It almost works. The loud bass that clogs up his ears very nearly drowns out all the sad noises he hears underneath the surface chaos – the ones that constantly remind him of how empty he feels in one half of his body, or in a certain part of his body.

His heart?

That’s all bullshit, his heart’s pumping just fine – especially when he knocks back three shots in a row and sends the crowd into a frenzy. He doesn’t even know how he’s ended up at this big, round table surrounded by a bunch of people taking turns to challenge shot after shot. But Jeonghan's here anyway, the table is welcoming him with the kind of over-the-top hearty clamour only found in clubs like this and he can’t even hear Seungcheol’s voice in his head, telling him to take care, not to get too crazy in parties in case he hurts himself.

What a load of piss. Seungcheol probably wouldn’t give two shits about Jeonghan now.

Another shot downed and he hears cheers as he tips his head back, feeling the burn of the alcohol climb down his throat. Jeonghan pushes his hair, now dyed a hazelnut brown, away from his face in satisfaction and almost grabs another glass being thrust in his face only to be stopped by a strong hand gripping his arm.

“For god’s sake, Jeonghan, it’s been half an hour,” the newcomer whisper-shouts at him, and Jeonghan lets out a loud laugh when he realises it’s just Seokmin.

“That’s plenty of time to get drunk,” retorts Jeonghan. When Seokmin tries tugging again, he frowns. “What? I just got here. There are lovely people here."

“You’re crashing someone’s party, Jeonghan. This isn’t a free-for-all, it’s clearly sectioned off.” This only deepens Jeonghan’s frown as Seokmin drags him off with a litany of apologies to the crowd they’re now leaving behind.

“Then why were they so nice?” whines Jeonghan. His head is buzzing unpleasantly now; a concoction of surprise, annoyance, confusion, and something blue like traces of sadness, or something. It’s really doing his head in, which is exacerbating his displeasure even further. “They were laughing."

Seokmin pushes him into a chair none too gently – it has a sharp backrest that makes Jeonghan wince when he collides with it. “Yeah, at you."

"Isn’t this what you brought me here for?” Jeonghan says, just shy of resentful. “To make a fool of myself?"

“Of course not.” Seokmin sighs. “Look, I’m all for you having fun and forgetting everything for a while, but take it easy, okay?"

Take it easy. Jeonghan shoves Seokmin away, suddenly more sober than he’d like. What kind of twisted reality is this, where all it takes is three words to snap someone out of the magic of intoxication?

“You sound like him,” Jeonghan manages to rasp out through the ache in his chest. “You sound just like Seungcheol."

The guilt is practically radiating off of Seokmin. “I’m – sorry. Let’s just stick together for the night, okay?” When Seokmin smiles that blinding, million-watt smile of his, Jeonghan feels like he’s back on stable ground, not lurching around in a pit of bad memories. “Come on. What song do you want them to play?"

The appeal of getting shit-faced drunk is starting to wear off for Jeonghan, but he’s trying hard not to be a spoilsport – so he lets himself get dragged to the DJ booth where some kid Seokmin knows called Hansol is opening requests.

From the elevated platform, Jeonghan gets a good view of the stuffy, boxy room of the club drenched in reddish light. The club is actually a lot smaller than it seems to be, but it’s also crammed full of people, so crowded Jeonghan doesn’t know how they’re not all choking for air in this enclosed space, though it probably contributes to the illusion of augmented space now that Jeonghan thinks about it. It’s a little amusing to hover above the room like this because down there, it’s easy to pretend you’re just another body, invisible from all eyes and safe within the cloak of anonymity. If only everyone had the chance to come up to the platform, they’d see how wrong this assumption is, because Jeonghan can see every person clear as day even through his slowly growing headache. Everything is so _visible_.

Everything. Including Seungcheol’s form, sitting hunched at the bar, cradling a half-full glass.

He blinks wildly, because surely this can’t happen – how many times do their paths have to cross when all they want is a blank slate to start over? – but no matter how hard he squints, Seungcheol is still there, frozen in the same position, and Jeonghan has to come to terms that this is not a hallucination.

"You’ve got to be joking,” Jeonghan groans, slapping a hand to his forehead. “He’s literally haunting me."

Distracted from his conversation with Hansol, Seokmin finally catches on and nearly pushes him down the staircase, tugging him in the direction of the exit.

“Hyung. Hyung, you should leave. Get out now.” Seokmin hisses near Jeonghan’s ear, but Jeonghan is getting fed up of being told what to do, even if Seokmin’s counsel right now sound a lot more sensible than what he has in mind.

He shrugs Seokmin off. Something tugs at Jeonghan, something inexplicable. Perhaps these coincidences are too convenient to become just that – maybe these conveniences add up to what people call fate, and Jeonghan is supposed to pursue it.

There’s no harm in trying, is there?

(Of course there is, but Jeonghan’s too drunk to think very far ahead.)

“Thanks for the advice, Seokmin-ah,” he pats Seokmin’s shoulder, much to the latter’s bafflement. “But I think I’ll take it from here."

Seokmin’s protest be damned, Jeonghan storms in the direction of Seungcheol and soon gets lost in the crowd, but not before downing two, three, four shots on the way. He’s not scared, and he’s definitely not tripping over his own feet. He is definitely still sober enough to note that even from a distance Seungcheol seems absolutely smashed, which is worrying. It takes a fuckload of alcohol to get Seungcheol properly drunk. There’s a small gleam reflecting off of his left hand and Jeonghan, at first, thinks it’s just the half-empty glass playing tricks on his eyes.

The way his stomach drops when he realises it’s an engagement ring – their engagement ring – around Seungcheol’s finger is the most horrible feeling he’s felt in a long, long while.

Nevertheless, Jeonghan is nothing but a determined man once he’s acquired a mission, so he presses on with a stubborn frown set in his eyebrows. He all but collapses onto the stool next to his target, waiting until his head stops spinning so fast and he’s able to get a steady line of vision. Then, as if only noticing Seungcheol’s presence, Jeonghan feigns casual surprise.

“Seungcheollie!"

It takes a few seconds for Seungcheol to lift his head up from where he was staring holes at the countertop mere moments ago, and then another couple of seconds process the person in front of him. Once he does his expression turns sour.

“What the hell are you doing here?"

Jeonghan frowns, unable to mask the hurt. “What? Is it against the rule for us to be in the same place at the same time? The world’s smaller than you think, you know. Self-centered prick."

Jeonghan orders another drink (a Sazerac, he needs the citrusy kick right now) and ignores the mumbling courtesy of Seungcheol. It sounds a lot like _I’m not self-centered one._ Even in the deep throes of intoxication, Seungcheol is competitive, because he knocks back the rest of his drink and lifts his hand up for another order.

“Black Russian,” he slurs to the bartender. “With more of the Absolut 100."

“Holy shit,” breathes Jeonghan in horror. “Are you trying to kill yourself?"

“I wasn’t expecting company,” says Seungcheol with a piercing look in his eyes, but Jeonghan knows they’re empty words. If Seungcheol really detested this encounter, he could very easily get up and leave, and Jeonghan wouldn’t stop him. The fact that he’s staying is one that Jeonghan means to investigate thoroughly.

“Where are you staying, anyway?” Jeonghan can’t stave off his curiosity.

“None of your business,” comes Seungcheol’s curt reply. After three sips of his new drink, however, he grumbles quietly, “Jisoo’s got a spare room."

“Typical,” Jeonghan tries to sound derisive. He doesn’t succeed.

Now Seungcheol is eyeing him with no small amount of hostility, but clearly unable to formulate a logical response to this, Seungcheol opts to order a bottle of rye whiskey even before he’s halfway through his Black Russian, all the while pointedly ignoring Jeonghan. The only response Jeonghan can think of is to force his own drink down his throat, if only to spite Seungcheol.

“Thought neither of us were supposed to get drunk."

“And look where we've both ended up.” Jeonghan scoffs. “So much good it’s done for us."

“Insinuating something?"

Jeonghan stares at him with a cold look in his eyes, something twisting in his chest. “Have you always been this fucking dense, Choi Seungcheol? Let me spell it out for you. _We’re wasted. It’s not working_."

“It wasn’t just this, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol’s voice is wavering – with anger or exhaustion, it’s hard to tell. “It was a lot of things and you _know it._ "

And the sad part is, Jeonghan does. He really does. He can see the disillusioned look they both wear when there’s yet another dull takeaway for dinner in their laps, when Seungcheol is clearly staying at work later than usual just to avoid the awkward silence at home, borne from a lack of anything else to say to each other. Despite being under one roof, they’ve been living on different planes of reality for so long they’ve lost sense of what it truly means to be together.

“How’s living alone been for you?"

“Fine."

“Missed me yet?” It’s supposed to sound cheeky, but even Jeonghan can hear the subdued sadness in his own voice.

Seungcheol must have noticed too because he suddenly runs a hand over his face, groaning. “I – I’m not up for this shit.” He pushes his half-empty glass away and makes to stand up, but he must have overestimated his strength because he sways dangerously in his spot instead. Jeonghan has to reach out to steady Seungcheol before he crashes to the ground and create a scene – he doesn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention, not in the state they’re both in.

“It’s like the blind leading the blind,” mutters Jeonghan as he helps Seungcheol settle into a seat. “What’s gotten into you?"

Whether it’s the artificial courage from the alcohol or something much more deeply ingrained in him, Jeonghan maintains his grip on Seungcheol’s wrist, afraid that if he lets go, whatever tension there is – the only connection they’ve had in what seems like _centuries_ – would slip away like sand.

“You know,” Seungcheol says slowly, like he’s considering what repercussions his next words will have. “Whenever I get – get to head home early, I never messaged you. Because I wanted it to be a surprise,” he hiccups. “I thought you liked surprises. But you were always asleep."

His thoughts drift off and are lost in the sea of heavy beats and sweaty bodies, and Jeonghan’s breath gets stuck in his throat. They’re alone for a split second, people blending into the background, the volume on the world turned way down until Jeonghan’s able to dig through the mess in his head and find the sentences he’s been mulling over.

“I started going to bed earlier,” says Jeonghan quietly, feeling alarmingly sober. “Because… it’s stupid, but I wanted to see if you’d start hugging me to sleep again. I liked falling asleep in your arms."

Time passes with the heaviness of the thick, thick silence after that, both drowned in their drinks and the thoughts they can’t drain out of their minds.

“You can’t – you can’t say that and expect there to be no consequences, Cheol.” Seungcheol’s eyes are wild, helpless, so vulnerable and Jeonghan wonders if he looks the same way because at the moment he feels so, so exposed. And before he can take it back, pretend it's all a mistake, Seungcheol whispers his reply quietly but resolutely.

“Maybe I want consequences."

Jeonghan sits there, stunned, unable to process the words through his intoxicated thoughts. Then Seungcheol slams down his (seventh, it must be) bottle with a growl that sounds more defeated than dangerous and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck."

Jeonghan doesn’t know how it happens. All he remembers next is being slammed against the door of their – his, now – apartment. Of course Jeonghan has spent hours fantasising what he’s been missing – this, having Seungcheol lust for him, reach for him desperately and kiss every inch of skin he can reach – but nothing even comes close to the real thing. The solid warmth pressing him against the hardwood surface reminds him so much of better times as Jeonghan watches Seungcheol drop to his knees without a question and make quick work of his trousers. But the first touch of Seungcheol’s mouth is enough to make Jeonghan whine out loud, chant his name and pull at his hair lightly, just the way he knows Seungcheol likes, and suddenly Jeonghan doesn’t want to remember anything else other than _now, now, now_.

Because Seungcheol is a miracle not even the most imaginative part of Jeonghan’s brain can ever conjure up in a daydream.

Muscle memory is a fascinating phenomenon – his body responds to the familiar touch, the familiar groans and moans echoing off the walls. There’s only relief and overflowing pleasure when Seungcheol finally drags him bodily towards the bed. Automatically, Jeonghan pulls Seungcheol on top of him, strips them both of their suffocating attires and proceeds to take one of Seungcheol's nipples into his mouth, sucking on it before biting hard and revelling in the groan Seungcheol emits as he presses his chest closer to Jeonghan’s lips. The rational part of him asks whether it’s okay, whether it’s right for them to do this, but all thoughts fly out when he hears the pop of a lube bottle cap.

(For a man so smashed, Seungcheol is impressively responsible, Jeonghan blearily thinks.)

“Can I?” is the only thing Seungcheol says out loud to Jeonghan, and he’s never nodded so vigorously before.

_Please._

And then he feels full once again, Seungcheol thrusting into him with equal parts fervour and care, when he kisses down Jeonghan’s neck in alternating sucks and bites and tender licks. Jeonghan shudders under his caresses, keens under the tight grip Seungcheol’s got on his hips and every change of angle sending his nerve-endings on fire. With a hand in Seungcheol’s scraggly hair and noises of pleasure slipping out of him, Jeonghan wants nothing more than to keep tasting Seungcheol on his lips, sucking on his tongue like it’s the last time they’ll have each other like this again.

The worst part is Seungcheol doesn’t once pull away; instead he presses their lips together and lets his tongue slide against Jeonghan’s languorously, slowly, savouring it.

He’s kissing Jeonghan like he’s sober, like he loves him again.

When Jeonghan reaches his climax, he thinks he hears a soft _god, I’ve missed you so much_ , but slumber overtakes him faster than he can ask Seungcheol to repeat it, once again, just so he knows it’s not a dream. 

 

 

*

 

 

All hell breaks loose the next morning.

Jeonghan wakes up to Seungcheol’s terrified, wide eyes. As if electrocuted, Seungcheol scrambles out of the sheets and almost tumbles head-first onto the floor.

"Fuck, fuck this wasn't supposed to happen." His eyes are bloodshot, hair haggard and there are red-purple marks peppered all over his body. Seungcheol looks like a downright mess, and this might have made Jeonghan feel marginally satisfied if he wasn’t feeling so shit himself. “Why are you – why am I here?"

“What are you asking me for? I'm not the one who pounced after getting brain-dead drunk, you bloody idiot,” Jeonghan spits back as he struggles to an upright position and wincing the entire way. Fuck, the sunlight hurts – he’s forgotten to draw the curtains last night. In fact he’s forgotten a lot of things last night – not to mention that whatever he let Seungcheol do to him in his inebriated haze, the effects are certainly doing a number on his back. He wants nothing more than to swaddle himself in blankets and go back to sleep but Seungcheol is far from calm, growing more hysterical by the second.

"You should have pushed me away!” he half-screeches.

“You’re an adult, why should I have to be responsible for your actions?"

“So you wanted this?” Seungcheol’s tone is accusatory, and this only irks Jeonghan even more.

“Holy shit, we were both drunk, Seungcheol, get off my case."

The tension that suddenly grips every bone in Seungcheol's is palpable even through Jeonghan’s groggines. “Not drunk enough to – to – did I somehow –"

Jeonghan resists the urge to roll his eyes, if only to curb the terrible headache preying on his temples at the moment. “Look – I remember… most things. You didn’t – nothing like that. At the time, at least, I wanted it."

Seungcheol’s obvious relief drives through Jeonghan’s heart like a lance. Suddenly, he’s hit by a pang of want – the desire for Seungcheol to look at him full of concern again, for the fingers he loves so much to card through his hair after a long day at work, to pepper kisses to the back of his nape as they stand by the balcony of their apartment, chest to back, cuddling for warmth in the winter air. For a second Jeonghan can fool himself into thinking they’re back together, that this is just another rough night after a wild party and they’ll end up huddling on the couch the entire day, eating takeout and throwing juvenile criticisms at whatever they happen to find on TV. With the way Seungcheol’s looking at him now – all careful and vulnerable – Jeonghan is almost, almost convinced that the nightmare of almost two months and a half has all been a dream.

But the deceiving trance is broken when anger flashes across Seungcheol’s features once again. “I can’t believe this,” he says to no one in particular. “Look, I just – we just messed up. I – I don’t even want to think about it.” Throwing the blankets away and haphazardly standing up, Seungcheol looks ready to bolt and almost falls over again in his haste to rush to the bathroom.

Jeonghan grabs his hand. "Was it that bad?"

Seungcheol doesn't turn around, but Jeonghan can see all the tension seep out of his back as if he's suddenly overcome by exhaustion.

"Not at all, no," he murmurs, voice tinged with guilt. “You know it was good. More than good."  _I wanted it as much as you did._

"Then why can’t we just talk –"

“This isn’t the time nor place for a ‘talk’ to happen. Right now, I don't think I'm the person I need to be, and neither are you the person you need to be before _this_ ," Seungcheol gestures between them. “Can be a thing again."

"You mean before _that_  can be a thing again?"

Both gazes follow Jeonghan’s finger, where it’s pointing at the engagement band still around Seungcheol’s left ring finger, and the uninhibited surprise on Seungcheol’s face tells Jeonghan he hasn’t realised he’s been wearing it the entire time. There’s so much weight and significance behind Jeonghan's question – the engagement ring doesn’t just signify being together again, living under one roof. It suggests long-term commitments and mutual trust that, as of late, have been reduced to pieces.

"Exactly."

It stings to know that Seungcheol’s doubts extend past the heat of anger, but Jeonghan’s body is screaming at him in pain and he barely has the capacity to pull himself out of bed, let alone deal with an emotionally malfunctioning grown man (maybe two).

"God, whatever –" Jeonghan groans as he feels another bout of headache coming. "Please just leave."

"No need to ask me twice," replies Seungcheol icily, already getting up to get his things.

Seungcheol dresses in silence as Jeonghan smothers his own face with a pillow. He hears the familiar jingle of keys and the soft padding of socked feet making their way around the bed, signaling Seungcheol's exit and the sudden fear overwhelms Jeonghan so acutely, he can't help the question that tumbles out of his mouth.

"Hey, Cheol?" Jeonghan clears his throat as he pushes the pillow away from his face. "Have you – have you been seeing anyone else?"

Jeonghan is trying to sound nonchalant but it doesn't work - his voice is trembling, heart already hurt by the possibility of Seungcheol holding someone else in his arms, whisper sweet nothings into their ear, thrust into another body with the same care and fervour –

Seungcheol is looking at him with sad eyes.

“Come on, Jeonghan," he whispers. "I said we should take a break, not break up."

Mercifully, Seungcheol shuts the door quickly after that so Jeonghan can let out the sob that's been locked up inside him for far too long.

 

 

*

 

 

It's been three months since that night, but Jeonghan is starting to forget what living with someone else feels like, what it’s like to wake up to a bed that isn’t half cold and half empty.

_Scratch that_ , Jeonghan thinks as he buries further into his comforter. _It all feels cold._

At the very least, things are finally settling down. Jeonghan’s finally picked up a new project – it’s not a lead role, he doesn’t think he’s ready for that kind of pressure again just yet, but it’s a relatively decent role under a director who, despite being quite young and inexperienced, is ambitious and willing to take risks. Contrary to the biggest fear he’s been harbouring, Jeonghan has actually found it easy to get along with his co-stars at the script-reading session, has been able to raise important questions to the directors and has since made some new friends.

Seokmin’s stopped trying to get him to get wasted and has invited him frequently to Mingyu's restaurant instead (having Mingyu around is always a good idea), along with Soonyoung and Jihoon who are tactful enough to never mention Seungcheol, and after a while Jeonghan is able to numb the pain, or at least sweep it away to the darkest, most secluded corner of his mind. It never really leaves, but it doesn’t make him go haywire, which is all he needs at the moment.

He’s having coffee with his toast one morning  – Jeonghan is still not the greatest cook – when his phone pings with a new message, and somehow Jeonghan knows even before picking it up that this is something different.

It’s a text from an unsaved number, but he recognises it. Even after he’s deleted Seungcheol’s entry from his contacts, the numbers he can still recite like an old nursery rhyme. It makes everything more nerve-wracking for Jeonghan to swipe his phone unlocked and read over the concise message, trying not to keel over, bent under the weight of conflicting emotions.

Can we talk? I’ll pick you up at 9 tonight.

 

*

 

As promised, Seungcheol arrives at nine p.m. sharp.

Seungcheol is dressed exactly how Jeonghan expects him to; a plain white tee, a black suit jacket draped over the back of the seat, black slacks. The no-mess outfit. He unlocks the door for Jeonghan to climb in, drives off without a word, and Jeonghan doesn’t ask where they’re going.

They arrive at the empty lot of a park, and Seungcheol cleanly manoeuvres into an empty slot even though he could have parked parallel for all the good it would do in their isolation. He switches the engines off but makes no move to walk out, only rolls down the windows to let in some air and leans further back into his chair. Jeonghan mirrors him.

They stay that way for a long time. There are all at once a million and no words to say, because things like _I miss you_ and _are we okay_? aren’t nearly enough.

Then, with a soft sigh, Seungcheol holds out his hand on the divider, palm open invitingly. A peace offering.

Frankly, Jeonghan is tired of acting like he doesn’t want any of this back, the feeling of having Seungcheol as his again, so he takes it without missing a beat.

It seems to break the spell of tension in the air – they can both breathe easy again, the air doesn’t feel too stifling anymore with the breeze sifting in through the window and there’s white noise now, not just the sound of their pained hearts beating in the silence. Seungcheol lifts their clasped hand up to his lips and presses a long, hard kiss on the back of Jeonghan’s hand, eyes closed like he’s trying to memorise the feel of Jeonghan’s skin once again, but they both know they’ve never, for a single second, forgotten what the other feels like.

Waves of emotions lap up at Jeonghan – longing, love, surprise, frustration, fondness – culminating in a painful ache before crashing onto the shores of his being with the force of a tidal wave.

“Jeonghan?” Seungcheol starts, stroking a thumb on the back of his palm. “Thank you… for giving me the space I needed. And I’m sorry.”

Jeonghan blinks back tears. “For what?"

“I’m sorry that it had to come down to that – this. The break. I’m sorry for treating you like shit, you deserve so much better – fuck, I’m just, sorry,” Seungcheol’s voice is quivering, his hand is trembling. “For everything."

“You’re not the only one who fucked up,” Jeonghan whispers. “I’m sorry for being on your case all the time. For trusting you so little, and asking for too much. For not being patient enough and letting my mouth run without thinking."

“You put up with me,” Seungcheol insists, leaning over the divider to cup Jeonghan’s face so tenderly Jeonghan melts into the touch. “You stayed with me, you still believed in me. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Jeonghan’s chest feels so full, so heavy he’s afraid of it exploding and leaving him with nothing at all, so he lets himself cry instead. “You still love me, right?"

Something must have burst in Seungcheol – like a dam, the tears slip past his eyes in quick successions, tracking wet paths down his cheeks. “Fuck, fuck – I’m sorry for ever making you think otherwise, for even making that a _possibility_. Of course – Jeonghan. I love you, so much that I had to leave when I became the worst version of myself. I didn’t want you to see it, but you did and I almost lost it. I hated myself for doing that. Even if I tried, I would never be able to stop loving you.” He stops to choke back a sob, breath stuttering in his chest. “It’s okay to hate me after all this, you know. It’s fine."

Jeonghan shakes his head adamantly, gripping Seungcheol’s wrist as his own tears wet his palm. “Stop talking like you’re the only one at fault – there – I inflicted some damage, too."

“Not as much as I did."

“Shut up, you little shit,” Jeonghan hisses, and the laugh it elicits out of Seungcheol is enough to steal all the remaining breath away from his chest. He turns his head and kisses Seungcheol’s palm, uncaring of the dampness from his own tears. "I love you too. So much."

They’ve still got a lot to work out, but for now, they’re content to stay like this – holding each other, kissing softly, knowing they’ve survived the deluge and rainstorm. That despite every mishap and adversity, they will always have each other.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Now can my mind stop operating on coupjeong_trash.exe mode all the time thnks


End file.
